


Death is a Blinding Dance

by ilokheimsins



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M, sex and death and all the little things in between
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-16 01:54:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3470072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilokheimsins/pseuds/ilokheimsins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames always uses his not inconsiderable muscle to kill them slowly, all the better to watch the light leave their eyes and hear them beg.  Arthur is particularly fond of knives.  The way they shine in the light and the cuts they make are so clean.  Death is a past time for them.</p><p>It's also a secret.  Eames is a teacher and has a lovely boyfriend named Arthur who's perfect and very much not a killer.  Arthur is a patisseur and has a gorgeous boyfriend named Eames who has the most terrible puppy eyes and is very much not a killer.</p><p>And the death is a side thing, really.  No one needs to know.  After all, they'd be so upset if they had to do away with the other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Death is a Blinding Dance

**Author's Note:**

> I love the serial-killers-in-love trope so much it's probably not healthy. Honey-trap (pot? What's the actual term for this?) assassins everywhere. I also should really not be starting another fic.

Eames fucks up into the boy above him with hard, short thrusts.  The boy moans in frustration as he tries to shove himself further down but Eames only tightens his grip in warning.  The boy goes back to writhing helplessly, tears gathering in his eyes as he chases an orgasm that’s barely out of sight.  He bites down on his trembling bottom lip and rolls his hips, sighing when Eames’ cock finally hits home.

He leans forward and braces his hands on either side of Eames’ shoulders.  His dark brown hair, curling and wet, falls forward and frames his face.  The doe brown eyes blink down wetly at Eames and something inside Eames carefully snaps.

Eames surges forward and shoves the boy down onto his back, fucking forward at a brutal pace.  The boy cries out at the sudden change of pace.  He scrabbles at Eames’ back, tightening his thighs around Eames’ thick waist as Eames presses down a thick hand on the thin neck of the boy.

He bends over, all soothing words and a placating little “it’s fine darling, just let it happen” at odds with the boy’s desperate litany of begging.

“No no no no, please, please…”

Eames rears back, looks down at those brown eyes glittering with fear.  The body below Eames seizes up with orgasm and Eames feels his own orgasm crest over him like a wave.  He drops forward and the pressure crushes the windpipe of the boy.

He pulls out and cleans off, efficient swipes of the cloth in the tub of water in the corner of the room.  Solid steps take him back to the bed, where he gently closes the boy’s eyelids and places a kiss on his forehead.

“I do love you so, my darling Arthur.” Eames breathes out.

***

The police find Charlie Hopper’s body three days later.  The pieces of it are strewn about in the mountain forest, torn to shreds by wolves.

***

“Arthur, pet, you have to get up,” Eames murmurs into Arthur’s hair.  He catches a whiff of sandalwood and laundry detergent and deems that Arthur must’ve fallen asleep right after work.  The poor dear.

Arthur just grumbles nonsensically and attempts to burrow into his pillow.  Eames places a kiss at the nape of Arthur’s neck and slowly kisses his way down, pulling at the collar of Arthur’s pristine shirt to nip at the vertebrae sloping out of Arthur’s back.  Arthur sighs and turns his head to catch Eames in a slow, sleepy kiss.

“’m awa—” Arthur cracks a yawn right in Eames’ face.  Eames wrinkles his nose at the smell of Arthur’s breath but continues to place kitten licks at the sensitive point under Arthur’s jaw.

“Gonna fuck me awake then?” Arthur mumbles sleepily.

“There’s an idea, pet,” Eames says approvingly and shoves the covers out of the way.  Arthur’s shirt is wrinkled and his tie is only halfway off.  His pants are unbuttoned and shoved halfway down his thighs.

“It’s a miracle you didn’t strangle yourself in your sleep,” Eames says as he carefully pulls Arthur’s tie off.  Arthur obligingly lets himself be moved as Eames strips him the rest of the way.  The careful languidness of his limbs is something Eames appreciates and he kisses his way down Arthur’s belly, pressing his lips to skin still warm from sleep.

Arthur lazily kicks his pants off the side of the bed and spreads his legs.  He hooks his ankles together over Eames’ shoulder and hums prettily when Eames mouths at his cock.  Eames licks a long stripe down the crease of Arthur’s hip and revels in the way Arthur’s stomach tightens and releases as he arches slightly.

“Darling, you are the most gorgeous thing,” Eames mutters, reverence in his tone.

“The most gorgeous thing wants to be fucked now,” Arthur says as he pulls Eames up for a kiss.

“I was getting on that before you decided to kiss me to distraction,” Eames says when they pull back for air.

“You really should be more disciplined, Mr. Eames,” Arthur chides, “A kiss shouldn’t distract you that much.”

“Ah, but Arthur—”

Eames is interrupted by the horrific screeching Arthur has somehow deemed appropriate as a ringtone.  Judging by the face Arthur is making at the moment, he’s having serious second thoughts about the viability of the sound.

It’s a moment’s work for Arthur to sweep the phone up, hit the receive button, and smoothly say “Arthur, make it quick” into the receiver.

Mal’s voice, speaking rapid-fire French, comes through and Arthur flops back onto the pillows.

“Mal, I thought you said I had the day off,” He groans into the receiver.  Half of the sound is exasperation and half is Eames working lube soaked fingers into Arthur’s arse.

There is a clear pause and then Mal’s voice, tinny and static and very much in English, comes through the phone.

“Arthur are you in the middle of sex?”

Eames bursts out laughing and that is apparently enough answer for Mal, for she starts on her tirade about how Eames is so very much not good for Arthur and how Arthur can do better than a man whose arms are the diameter of his head.

“I’ll come in,” Arthur agrees quickly, “Later, after lunch.”

“Come in you,” Eames whispers against Arthur’s knee and revels in the disapproving look Arthur shoots him.

“Go have your sex,” Mal says and hangs up.

“No lazy day then, pet?”

Arthur shakes his head as he places the phone on the nightstand.

“Some guy just paid Mal absolutely obscene amounts of money to have this fancy cake done before seven tonight,” Arthur explains and sighs when Eames spreads his fingers.

“Obscene, hmmm, pet?”  Eames is transfixed by the sight of his fingers fucking into Arthur, the way his body is still not quite out of sleep and so very, very warm inside.

“An entire month’s worth of revenue for this one cake,” Arthur says.  And then bucks up impatiently when Eames’ fingers scrape over his prostate.

“Eames, it’s ten-thirty, and Mal said noon.  Be more efficient,” He orders.

Eames grins and rolls a condom on before pressing the backs of Arthur’s knees until he’s bent in half, his head bracketed by his legs.

“Hold,” Eames says.  Arthur obligingly holds his legs in place and his head rolls back as Eames presses in, far too slow for the ache inside.

“Efficiency, Mr. Eames,” Arthur demands breathlessly.  But his position doesn’t give him much leverage and so he settles for glaring at Eames as the man takes his own sweet time bottoming out.

“Have I ever told you how remarkably flexible you are?”  Eames pets Arthur’s thighs, marveling at how the muscles underneath don’t seem to be straining at all.

“Eames,” Arthur says simply and that’s all the warning Eames gets before Arthur has locked his ankles around the back of Eames’ neck.  He yanks forward and the rest of Eames’ cock slides in, his hips smacking against Arthur’s arse.

“Better,” He purrs and rolls his hips.

“Minx,” Eames says fondly, but obligingly picks up the pace.  He grinds his hips when he sinks back in and Arthur squirms, panting and tightening his grip on Eames’ arms.

“Efficient enough?”

Somehow, Arthur manages to look haughty while being fucked hard and fast and he very clearly enunciates, “Do better, Mr. Eames.”

Eames growls and cups his hands squarely under Arthur’s knees.  He pushes them apart, marveling all the while at Arthur’s absolutely delicious flexibility, and pistons his hips forward harder.  The glorious sound that punches out of Arthur is perfect and Eames makes it his mission to hear more of those.

Arthur is noisy and demanding still, biting and ordering Eames “faster, harder, more, Mr. Eames” until he comes.  His back bows, a lithe arch that grinds his head into the bedcovers and makes Eames feel like Arthur’s spine will snap from the dangerous curve it’s in.

Eames tightens his grip around Arthur and fucks in again until his orgasm hits him.  He stills, panting into the curve of Arthur’s leg.

“Is that all then, Mr. Eames?”

Arthur’s voice is challenging now, amused and very much awake.

“I thought Mal said noon,” Eames shoots back as soon as he’s got his breathing somewhat back under control.

“I do intend to make it for noon,” Arthur nods, “But I also intend to have what should have been a day’s worth of sex.”

And, well, there’s really nothing Eames can object to about that.

***

Arthur breezes into the bakery, charmingly named “French” because of the time Mal fell asleep while sending the email containing the pertinent details for the outside of the shop to the contractors.  He is exactly on time, the clock chimes noon as the door swings shut behind him, and Mal is glaring at him from behind the glass display.

“I’m on time,” He points out.

Mal’s answer is a disparagement of Eames’ character.  Arthur smiles and pecks a kiss to Mal’s cheek.

“He’s really not all that bad.”

The argument is old hat by now and Mal’s predictable response of, “He said cake batter was better than cake” makes Arthur smile.

“He is a heathen,” Arthur concedes.  He hangs his suit jacket in the little employee closet and rolls his sleeves up before donning an apron.

“Now, let’s see this monstrosity that needs to be done today, hmm?”


End file.
